


Oh, You Pretty Things

by Masterless



Category: wtfock
Genre: David Bowie lyrics, Homophobic Language, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Sad, This Is Sad, Two pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterless/pseuds/Masterless
Summary: The words reverberated in his ears like church bells, loud and lasting. He could feel them vibrating in his chest, sending shockwaves through his body. He’d heard those words said before, always pointed at someone else, always away from him. They were never said to him. They were never said by someone Sander liked.
Relationships: Robbe/Sander
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57
Collections: Skam Belgium (Wtfock) ▶ Sander Driesen / Robbe Ijzermans





	Oh, You Pretty Things

“Dirty fag.”

The words reverberated in his ears like church bells, loud and lasting. He could feel them vibrating in his chest, sending shockwaves through his body. He’d heard those words said before, always pointed at someone else, always away from him. They were never said to him. They were never said by someone Sander liked.

“Dirty fag.”

How could he say that? How could Robbe say that? He felt the words leave his lips and he knew he was saying them and he didn’t want them to stop. He hated how sunken Sander looked when he closed the door on his face, but he had to walk away, had to leave, or he’d break down and cry in the lobby of the apartment building.

“Dirty fag.”

Sander saw Robbe hesitate inside, but he wasn’t turning back, so he walked away. His whole body was numb and he felt like he wasn’t breathing. Air was going into his lungs of its own volition, he had nothing to do with it. How could Robbe say that. Did he mean it? It looked like he did. Sander saw the crosswalk and he took it without looking to see if a car was coming. Did he? Did Sander take advantage of Robbe? No. But he bought the drinks. But Robbe could have stopped drinking at any time. But Sander kissed him first. But Robbe kissed him back. Did he take advantage of Robbe? No, Sander did not.

“Dirty fag.”

Milan was talking to him through the door and Robbe was yelling for him to go away. He could hear his own voice break, he could feel it crack in his throat like sand before a wave. His eyes were stinging and his cheeks were wet. His chest was cramping from holding in his sobs and his whole body shook and his thoughts were racing and he couldn’t stop them from screaming at him, yelling that he had hurt Sander, that he did the right thing, that he was wrong, that he was right. Sander was good and Sander was bad, and Robbe was an idiot and an asshole and a fucking freak and a faggot. He crammed his headphones over his ears and played the first thing that his phone had loaded and oh… it hurt even more.

“Dirty fag.”

Sander put his headphones on when he passed the park. He could hear the song, but he wasn’t listening. His ears picked up on words but not sentences. 

How could Robbe say that to him? He opened his heart to Robbe just one week earlier, saying that he didn’t think he’d ever find someone to love him, someone to accept him for who he is. He’d thought Robbe was going to be that someone, that person who would love him unapologetically.

“Dirty fag.”

Robbe curled up in his bed and lay himself cry. He couldn’t change his playlist, it seemed like the whole world was angry at him and it was showing him through the songs that came streaming through his headphones. He could see Milan approach the door and walk away, approach the door and walk away, again and again and again. He saw Zoë stop outside his door a few times, she might have even knocked, but the music was too loud and his heart was too hurt and he was too mad at himself and at Sander and at everyone. 

Why couldn’t Sander just leave him alone? Why couldn’t he have stayed home when Britt went to the beach, why couldn’t he have just ignored Robbe when he came in from the beach, why couldn’t he have just gone home when Britt and Noor left the bar after their fight? But he couldn’t erase what had happened and he didn’t want to, he wanted to cling to those few hours where he felt okay, where he felt like he wasn’t disgusting and wrong and a freak and like he deserved to die for what he was. He wanted to hold on to the feeling of Sander’s hands, blisteringly warm against the cool skin of his neck, clutching his hair and holding him close. He didn’t want to forget the heat of Sander’s mouth on his, the feeling of his lips and his tongue and his teeth and his shoulders and his chest and his body. He didn’t want to let go of the bubble of happiness that rose every time he thought of Sander, but he had to. 

His whole body felt fevered, listening to the playlist that Sander had sent him.

“Dirty fag.”

Sander arrived at home before he knew it. 

How could Robbe say all that? Didn’t their kiss mean the same to to Robbe as it did to Sander? 

Sander put his keys down and kicked his shoes off, walking to his room, and flopped face first onto his bed. He sighed, feeling tears come to his eyes slowly, falling softly as he turned to lay on his bad. Bowie started at him several times over from different angles in his room, watching him cry. He couldn’t even rely on David Bowie to make him feel better anymore, he’s shared that with Robbe. How could he have been to stupid? Did he fall for a straight boy? Again? Was this all his fault?

Bowie crooned in his ears, trying so desperately to fight against the hurt in his heart.

“Dirty fag.”

Oh, you pretty things (oh, you pretty things)

Don't you know you're driving your

Mamas and papas insane?

“Dirty fag.”

Oh, you pretty things (oh, you pretty things)

Don't you know you're driving your

Mamas and papas insane?

“Dirt fag.”

Let me make it plain

Gotta make way for the Homo Superior

“Dirty fag.”


End file.
